


In a Manner of Speaking

by flowersforgraves



Series: BTHB [16]
Category: Machineries of Empire Series - Yoon Ha Lee
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, F/F, Hand to Hand Combat, except it's not all that bad, physical altercation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 07:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17096603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: Cheris is, perhaps, overreacting.





	In a Manner of Speaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venndaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/gifts).



> prompt from venndaai: outnumbered in a fight + Cheris/Khiruev
> 
> (card [here](https://flowersforgraves.tumblr.com/post/177921515881/); current list of claimed and filled prompts [here](https://flowersforgraves.tumblr.com/post/181302508936/))

Cheris slides her foot behind her until she feels Khiruev’s boot pressing back. They’re back-to-back, both crouched in fighting stances, surrounded. She wonders if Khiruev is thinking the same thing she is -- that this is the closest thing to putting herself in front of Khiruev that’s possible, and that Khiruev is doing the same for her.

It’s a bit surreal to be fighting hand-to-hand like this. Cheris thinks vaguely of some academic text, now lost in her memory, that had described defenders of a besieged city forcing the invaders to take it one street -- one _block_ \-- at a time. This isn’t going quite that far, but she’s sure as hell not making it easy. 

“Down,” Khiruev snaps, and Cheris ducks immediately. Their hard-earned cooperation means she’s ready to do whatever Khiruev says without question, even though she doesn’t have to, and by some metrics shouldn’t. Khiruev hasn’t misused it yet, and Cheris suspects she won’t regardless. The butt of Khiruev’s staff (and where had that come from?) sweeps in a lightning-quick arc through the space where Cheris’ head had been a few seconds ago, and then Cheris pops back up to stab at a hand reaching for her belt.

It’s a breath or two later that Khiruev slips, the toe of her boot catching slightly on something in the floor. It’s only a fractional moment that her guard is down, but it’s enough that Cheris has to push herself farther, faster, harder, just to stay on her feet. She wants to help Khiruev, but she can barely help herself, and she feels everything spiralling further out of control.

The solid warmth of Khiruev at her back is gone. Cheris spares a beat to wonder if she’d left Khiruev, or if Khiruev had left her. Of course it doesn’t really matter whose fault it was; their isolation will be their downfall either way. If she can get into a corner she might buy herself another bit of time, but the likelihood of that diminishes every passing second.

Cheris hears a sharp cry of pain from Khiruev -- even as she turns to look she knows it’s a bad idea -- and then something smashes over her head and everything goes dark.

The next thing she knows she is lying on a carpeted floor, face up staring at the ceiling. There’s an ice pack on her forehead, soothing away some of the headache rattling throughout her skull, and Khiruev is sitting next to her.

She tries to sit up, but the rush of blood to her head makes her dizzy enough to have to lie back down. Khiruev puts a hand on her shoulder. “Lie still.” She’s brusque and perfunctory, and that’s weirdly reassuring for Cheris in her still dazed state.

“We failed,” she says, tongue feeling thick and heavy in her mouth.

Khiruev cracks a smile. “Dramatic. But yes, we didn’t accomplish our objective.”

Cheris knows she’s being intense about it, so she plays it up a bit. “We’ve lost the ship. The only thing left to do is wait for execution.”

The guard on the door breaks their impassive face to stare at her incredulously, open-mouthed. “All due respect, this is a _training exercise!_ ”

Cheris and Khiruev both start to laugh.


End file.
